


Like Water, Like Breath, Like Rain

by ultrafreakyfangirl



Category: Private Practice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrafreakyfangirl/pseuds/ultrafreakyfangirl
Summary: Pete and Addison need each other. Whether or not they admit it to themselves, or make excuses, excuses like they are in love with other people, it’s the truth. They need each other. Like water, like breath, like rain.
Relationships: Addison Montgomery/Pete Wilder
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Like Water, Like Breath, Like Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: So, quarantine has me binge watching Private Practice. I needed something like Grey's and, well, here we are. I'm only just beginning season 4, but I found it safe to write this...since well, Pete and Violet are getting married and Addison is not the one he's marrying and I will say this a million times over: Pete and Addison deserved better. They deserved better than the writing they got. Hands down. There was so much more to these two than that. And I'm sad about it. So, I'm not sure if this is a dead fandom seeing as the show has been over for a a long time, but it's worth a shot - please tell me there are more people out there that ship these two? They're not only adorable but they are sexy as hell together, and so this is kind of smutty. Whoops. It takes place I want to say 3x17/18. Let me know what you think and if anybody wants me to write more, I totally will! PETE AND ADDISON DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER.

Pete has this way of kissing her. He has this way of kissing her that makes her see stars, makes her whole world stop, just for those few minutes when their lips are pressed together, and the best part is that she has a way of kissing him, too.

She has this way of kissing him that makes him hold her tight, makes him grip her hair in his fist and dip her body to the floor; in a tasteless, indecent way, not in a way that bares lots of taffeta and a white dress. It's hot. It's so, ridiculously hot.

And she can't get enough of it. And neither can he, apparently, by the way he grabs her, grabs for her in professional situations - at the door of her office, blinds open, and those not so, just normal, everyday - when she's leaning against the sink, his baby boy on her hip, and he ends up grabbing his chubby little calf instead, making him squirm and squeal instead of her, his intended target.

Oh, and she loves him. She loves him so much, it's almost annoying. And it would be if he didn't love her. And he did. He really, really did.

He tells her so in moments that are both timed and out of the blue, and those are her favorite moments of all. Lucas against her chest, smacking his little lips together with his eyes half-mast, milk drunk in bliss, when only seconds later, little baby noises will emanate from his mouth in sleep.

He'll lean over, his lips ghosting the wispy blonde hairs on his son's head, then press softly against her cheek and she feels the words, feels his mouth forming them against her skin. "I love you, babe."

Babe. That's another thing. Nobody's ever really called her that. Not Derek, he had a stronger alliance to sweetheart, which she hadn't minded, and not Mark, who wasn't really fond of endearment, not any kind that wasn't sexualized.

This - babe - it brought up images of leather jackets and motorcycles and smarmy smiles with the whitest teeth. It made her tingly with a sense of bad boy takes good girl, a trope known throughout history and lusted after by the teenage girls who live their lives just waiting for that boy to answer their texts.

She wasn't like that, she had never been like that, but Pete was probably that boy, and he still was in some ways, and so maybe she was living out that fantasy she had missed before. It made sense. Sort of. She always liked living on the edge.

Maybe he was the edge. Lord knows he has her on the edge almost every day, straddling it, pressing herself against it, begging him to just let her go, to let her tip over and then fall, deeper, darker, with the promise that he would be there to catch her, to hold her tight after her breathing slows.

Their chemistry is electric, their kisses like fire, their lips burning, tongues scalding the roof of each other's mouths, their bodies coming together with enough friction to cause sparks, bright flashes of pleasure ricocheting against their eyelids and making them nearly pass out.

It's intense, and it's almost scary, what they have together, sexually, even though he lets her go first, every time. It took awhile for her to adjust; adjust to being taken that way, to being loved that way and ultimately being cared for, that way.

But she did. "I love you too," she'll whisper back to him, just as quiet, her words hushed in fear of waking Lucas. But he heard them. He always heard them.

They wake up in the same bed, sheets tangled from a restless night, or majority of the covers on her side, because she gets cold easily and he doesn't mind. And she likes it. She really likes it, the piddling cries of a fussy baby just an added bonus. She feels domestic with him, normal. And it's easy. It's really easy.

Before they get up, before they rise from the bed to face the day, to face whatever fresh hell their teething and exhausted baby boy was going to give them that morning, he just holds her there, with him, his body curling around hers, almost protective. It's like he believes he's lucky, and as she kisses his bare chest she knows that she is, too.

It was precarious though, all of it was, even as he assured her it wasn't. That it shouldn't be. But she wasn't stupid. Pete. Lucas. It all hinged on Violet staying away, as horrible as that must sound. She understands that, but she doesn't want to. It's just too sad to think about. So she doesn't, most of the time, though she can't say the same for him.

Sometimes, she'll catch his gaze drifting over to Violet's empty office just before he slams her up against the wall and pushes his hand intently up her skirt, but she can't blame him; because just as that first sigh leaves her, turning quickly, almost violently, into a moan, she lets her head rest against the stable surface, let's him support the rest of her, and wonders just how close Sam is in proximity to them, if he can hear her, hear them.

It's sick, them doing it, doing a relationship this way, on the contingency of not being able to have other people. So, Addison drowns it out the best she can and easily it becomes white noise in the background, forgettable if she lets it. And she does.

Right now, she focuses on the magnetic feel of Pete's fingers, drawing out every pleasurable sensation in the book, and then comes his mouth against her, and he's gripping her thighs, indenting her skin and it's not for the first time she thinks god, I love this man, this wonderful, beautiful man that can make me feel almost everything.

It might be magic or it might be something else, but she finds herself chasing it, her body pushing itself towards it, her hips flush with the movement of his open mouth against her, his hot breath inside of her, before he pulls away and the transition is smooth, hard and fast; only a few seconds pass and he's pulsing inside of her, and his hands are in her hair, and his lips, warm and sticky, taste of herself and it's not as gross as she'd imagined, not with him.

It's...it's primal and absolutely insane that it's happening against the door of her office, and the handle is digging into her shoulder blade but it's just an added sensation for her to experience, sharp and blunt as he coos repeatedly in her ear you're amazing.

He's letting the door bear most of their weight now, as he kisses her harder, slower, with more tongue than before, and she hadn't imagined herself tasting like anything really but there it was, a subtle sweetness and she's wondering now if he likes it, if he likes the taste on his tongue because she kind of does, and it's tawdry and lewd and some would say far too promiscuous for a woman like her, but she doesn't give a damn.

She gasps for air suddenly as his mouth travels to her neck and it's with a start she realizes she hasn't been breathing.

She breathes now. Deep. In, out. Then again. With purpose. She's feeling bold.

"Do you like the way I taste?"

His breath is heavy against her neck, and it was only when that feeling was gone that she realized he had been sucking on her pulse point and that she'd effectively messed with his focus.

"What?"

Now she was shy. She curls into him, hides her face in his chest. She wants to laugh. Holds it in. Instead, she should just get over herself because fuck, this was Pete, and ask again. But she doesn't.

He laughs though. He doesn't care. Not if he embarrasses her, or anything else. "Addison," he says, pushes her hair delicately behind her ear and gently coaxes her. "Ask me again."

He's coaxing her to look at him. To look him in the eyes and to own it. To be a woman. A woman who was comfortable with her own sexuality, comfortable enough to boast it. And she could be, with him. More than that, she wanted to be.

"Do you…" she draws out the words, not uncomfortable, but to build anticipation. And it works, because by the time she says it again he's sweating, and so is she; hot, sharp bullets piercing their skin, his, hers, both together, and the arousal makes for an enticing aroma, sensual, intense, and it's drawing her closer to him.

"Yes, babe, god, yes. You think I'd still be with you, doing this with you, if I didn't?"

He's mauling her neck again, unforgiving, and crass with his open-mouthed kisses, shaping ebony bruises on the most sensitive areas, and they serve as reminders of him, of what they did, for days afterwards, but she doesn't really care.

It helps, when she's with Sam and catches herself in a moment that could, with one wrong move, be something else. It never is, because there, an insignia on the inner part of her neck, is her reminder that she has Pete, and that while she does harbor some sort of feeling for Sam, she does love the man she's surrendered herself to, sexually and, well, they were working on the otherwise.

"No," she gasps, the feeling of something, teeth, scratching against her skin, already blooming red, making her stomach twist. "Oh…"

He chuckles, humorless and gravely as he picks up his pace inside of her. It was only a fraction quicker, which somehow made it that much more delicious. She moans again.

"Can you come?" he asks her, holding her hips higher, tilting them slightly and the angle the movement achieved makes her nearly scream.

His head dips into the crook of her shoulder and she cards her hands through his hair, pulling tight. He takes her hands in his, huffs out a sigh. "Ease up."

She can't. She can't explain it, but she just can't. She needs...she tears her hands from his and scratches her nails against his back, and this time he doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, and he just lets her.

She knows he likes the reminder of her, too. And it might be something entirely different, something so, incredibly intimate, sentimental, and it probably could be, one day, but the both of them knew that today, it was not.

"Oh fuck," he sighs into her hair, moves his mouth over hers.

And then he's kissing her, he's kissing her with aggravation, and intention; his tongue is everywhere, careless, the oscillating motions hot, lethargic, and for one, stupid, naïve second, unhinged thoughts of lock jaw enter but for some reason it's sexy.

It's Pete. The only person who has ever been able to kiss her and make her feel like this. She knows she makes him feel the feelings, too. And all of it, the seduction, it's powerful, powerful and addicting.

"That's it, babe. I'm there…" she tells him, and she's nearly whining now, it's almost overwhelming.

He holds her tighter, so tight she can feel their hearts beating, and it was like her heart became his, and his heart became hers.

She would let that be. She would take that as a startling sense of intimacy, and it made her feel such a rush of love, of true, unadulterated love, and maybe it was just the orgasm; but it remained long after the velvety blanket of sex and arousal unfurled from their bodies, laying slack against each other, with her back still pressed against the door, soft and deflated.

"Pete?" Naomi called, "you have a patient in exam room one," and then there was Sam's voice. "Addison, we have to get to the hospital."

Pete sighed, and then so did she. She wasn't ready to let this go, yet. It didn't seem like he was either and she liked that.

He kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes against his touch. "Come on, babe. We've got lives to save."

He helped her up and she accepted, using his body for support. Once standing, she kissed him. Short. Sweet. They didn't have time for much more.

"You mean I have lives to save. With surgery. You have hippy dippy potions to administer."

Her voice was warm and teasing, and she smiled when he gently smacked her shoulder. "I might just have to punish you later for that little comment, Addison Montgomery."

"Well, doctor Wilder, I can hardly wait."

He grinned. "Neither can I."

His smile turned into a devilish smirk as his palm made rough contact with her ass and when he squeezed it, she felt her breath leave her lungs.

She could hear his laughter under his breath when he opened the door to her office and stepped out. He might be a sadist. There was this heat pooling low in her belly, and she blushed, even as nobody could see it. And she might like it.

"Are you okay, Addie?" Naomi was looking at her funny. As she should be, she was probably a sight. "You look flushed."

Addison wanted to laugh, but of course she couldn't. And she couldn't very well tell her that right now, she had quite vivid images of Pete tying her wrists to the posts of her lavish L.A bed frame running on loop through her brain.

She might really, really, like it.


End file.
